The Ruff Life

     There is a park up the street, past the mosque and the bakery and the rows of apartment blocks.  It is a lovely spot, though the hike up there is a breath stealer.  It is laid out over a steep hill and spreads down the other side.  Stone sidewalks drop down and wind around to the bottom of the park where you can take some steep side streets and end up in trendy Kurucesme on the banks of the Bosphorous.  The view is stunning, and there are 2 little cafes that serve tea and coffee and food.  The place is usually full of families and couples.  It is also home to a number of street dogs who have staked out some rather trendy territory themselves.

     This picture is fuzzy because it was getting on towards dark and this guy was a ways away.  He lives under a little cliff where some of the park caretakers and the gypsies hang out.  They feed him scraps from the cafes and he is fairly beefy for a street dog.  You can tell they are street dogs because their ears are tagged with a government marker and they've been neutered.  No one owns them.  The Turks do not euthanize.    Being neutered does not necessarily mean the animals are non territorial.  Each has a definitive area of residency and they protect it rather vigorously if and when challenged.  If I were a dog going for a walk in Ullus Park, I would steer clear of this white creature.  The friend I was having tea with is afraid of him.  Lots of dog walkers who have their own canines on a leash, carry large sticks to fend off the hoards of street animals who don't care for domesticated interlopers. 

Here he is waiting for someone to come pet him and bring him a treat.  I wonder how he fares in winter.  As a matter of fact, I am curious to see how they all fare in winter.  It rained today and was a tad chilly.  I took a walk to the market and did not see a single dog.  Where do they go when it's rainy and cold?

You can see plastic containers of water everywhere around the city streets and in the neighborhoods.  People just put them out and keep them full.  You also will see piles of bones and scraps set out for the dogs.  I have never seen a dog here that is aggressive towards humans.  I am sure some people don't like the dog policy (the majority I am guessing are ex-pats) but as an animal lover I appreciate the kindness and consideration and tolerance that people have towards an animal that historically has been considered "dirty" by some religious standards.  I think Turks are very kind to animals in general.  Though we are coming up on Korban Bayram, which is lamb sacrificing time - and this is an active ritual here.  Done right however, the animal is slaughtered in a humane manner. 

I have seen many people stop to pet a street dog, or to talk to it sweetly.  They don't try and get the dog to come with them, they just pat and chat and then go on their way.  I could be accused here of being anthropomorphic by saying this, but I tell you the dogs here seem to speak with their eyes.  They are a curious lot. 

Last week while strolling around and waiting for a friend to take care of some phone business, I watched this man stop to talk to a dog that was hanging out in front of the store.  I've also seen old men in front of the mosque, tenderly feeding the dogs that sleep nearby.

                                                          

I am not sure what this sign is about, but I know it has something to do with feeding the dogs.  It think it's kind of funny, it looks like the dog in the poster is eating a gosleme  (kind of a Turkish burrito).

We recently had a pet store open up here in Ortakoy.  I hate it.  Western influence creeping in on tiny well bred and very expensive cat feet.  There's something about a pet store in the middle of a street teeming with street animals and wild birds... it just doesn't seem right.  Maybe the dogs and cats will break in and steal all the food. 

I know this country has its problems.  Politics here, as politics everywhere are not clean and pure.  Power invites corruption into its bed, and the perfect society does not exist this side of time, but I like this culture and I like this people. I was absolutely stunned to see a horse drawn cart down near the main arterial road in our area.  WHERE DOES SOMEONE KEEP A HORSE AROUND HERE???  I don't know, but I've seen him twice now so I know he has to board somewhere nearby.  I'll find out sooner or later.  Oh, and this guy was feeding chickens in another waterside park.  Not unusual right, except that this is a public park and there's a makeshift chicken shack and it's in one of the busiest tourist areas in Beskitas. 

Ah life is full of surprises and mystery here in Istanbul.  I am so grateful for this particular aspect of the culture.  It is endearing and novel, and I hope, like many charming quirks here, that it never changes.  But all things change.  The world shrinks and men become madder by the day.  For now, I will be content with the present peace and my prayers for this people, their animals, and their traditions, will continue.

Peace to you - all men and beasts.

It's a Cat's/Dog's Life.... or Happy Birthday

     It's been a while since my last post.  Someone asked the other day for another... and I thought to myself, I've had so many ideas about what to write next, what to share... but the days slip by and work/social life takes over... is it time for the animals?  My days are busy, and often after work there are walks to take, and shopping to do and movies to watch with friends, and birthday parties to attend, but in the end we all go home more or less alone.  I feel particularly that way this evening.  It's just that season.  Yes.  It's a good time to write about the abandoned animals.

     Tonight I went to a birthday party at a local haunt.  It was a good gathering with flowers and chocolate, gifts and hugs and kisses and conversation that sometimes dove deep.   I went home early.  I checked my bank account to see if the rent had been deposited.  It hadn't.  That makes almost 17 days overdue.  I called my mom and my sister to just chat and to find some familiar land that was somehow safe and reassuring and loving.  My mother spoke to me for about 1 minute.  My sister, bless her, granted me a few more minutes.  They are both busy.  There is an errant sewer line under the house they must wrestle with.  Saved me some skype credits I suppose.

     I've been saying for a while that I wanted to post about the animals of my neighborhood.  In Istanbul, cats and dogs are cared for in an odd and curious manner.  But they are cared for.  Scraggly and mangy and feral and sometimes unruly, they rest on the sidewalk, sleep in empty lots, become default mosque guards, take up residence in parks, follow gypsies on their rounds, or saunter across a terrifying boulevards (oftentimes causing me to cover my eyes and pray I don't have to witness shredded animal flesh mingled with auto and rubber).  So far so good.

     Some of these feral animal are adopted.  Like this cat in Sultanahamet that took up a rather pampered residence in the bowl of a tourist shop.  This cat is well cared for.  It's fed and clean and loved, I would assume... else the shop owner would not allow it berth in this particular ceramic treasure.  Of course, the cat earns its' keep.  I had to wonder how many people wander into this shop because of the clever window display.  Nice work if you can get it.

     Not all felines are as fat and fortunate.  This scraggly lot hang out at the water front near where I live ... begging for sardine heads, and fish offal.  It can be a tough life.  Makes for a good picture though.

     I love cats.  I always have.  Even the one that clawed at my brow when I was only 4.  "Kitty"... this I cooed just before the 42 stitches in my forehead (or 24 depending on who's telling the story).  Some people here at our school take cats in.  Some people also end up with fleas taking over their apartments, or... like one unfortunate little girl I know.... contract cat scratch fever from a nasty claw that innocently batted at her finger.  Still... I like cats.  This guy (pictured to the left) intrigued me last week at the jewelry market.  I thought perhaps he was feral, given the crazy look in his eyes, but turned out he belonged to the woman selling earrings.   I bought a pair, just for the right to take a picture of her cat.  He was thoroughly unimpressed with my interest.  I guess that's one reason I like the species.  They don't care for pretense and they are aloof enough to be charming.

       I know some people hate them.  I get it.  I won't ever have another one.  They can be messy and expensive and they tend to go missing or get run over.  They cause trouble and they don't behave.  They break things and jump on the counter and... well they are just a different kind of animal.   My last cat was just so doggone cool though, that I don't feel the need to ever spoil my memory of what it was like to be loved by a cat by getting another one.
     This crew was hanging out near the Galata Tower.  Everyone here takes a piece of feeding and watering these abandoned animals.  Not all are loved, not all have a warm place to sleep at night, and it really is survival of the fittest on these streets of Istanbul for the animals that live here.... but cars will come to a screeching halt to avoid hitting one, and shopkeepers put out bowls of water and food and blankets.  At one high end grocery store in an upscale neighborhood down the road, their cat gets his own condo and food bowl.

This is David taking care of his "van" cat.  I  never heard of a van cat, and to tell you the truth, as I write, I am too tired to do the research, so I'll just pass along the story David told me...the cat belongs to a specific tribe of cat found ONLY IN TURKEY in a particular area of Turkey.  Their markings and eyes are highly specific and it is illegal to take them out of the country.   They evidently fetch a nice price when sold outside of the country, but David would never do this.  Instead he feeds and waters and talks to his cat and shoos off the much less valuable, but appropriately named stray... "Sylvester" who frequently comes to consume the food David lays out for his special friend.  Sylvester is NOT a van cat.  I kind of like the way he looks though.  Reminds me of someone I once knew.

  Dogs are cared for as well.  In some ways even more so.  Canines are an interesting anomaly here in this Muslim country.  They too survive on the streets, tagged and neutered they roam freely staking out their territory and living in thin peace with the inhabitants of the city.  I'll share the dog life next blog.  I already feel better for just spilling the cat tale out into the air (or maybe letting the cat out of the bag?).

Not every creature is necessarily wanted, but in Istanbul... every creature can find a place to belong. 

The Bus Ride...

I managed to be dressed and breakfasting by 8:30 Sunday morning.  The Ege breakfast specialty was the very large and creative servings of jams and preserves.  These included tomato jam, watermelon, plum, rose (very nice, but I think they used rose water instead of the hips or petals) and my favorite, hibiscus.  The bus was already in line for the ferry, but we had time to do some last minute strolling, so Susan and I took off for an amble.

The funny thing about an island town like Bozcaada is the way it can spark the imagination and suddenly not returning to the world and work and the day to day routine .... seems very possible. 

As I noted earlier... there is still much of a Greek presence in the town and I had noticed a church bell tower when we first drove in.  It being Sunday morning, I wanted to locate the church and take a look around.  We spotted it from a distance and headed down the alley ways and quiet streets.  As we neared it, I could hear the sweet low singing / chanting of Greek hymns.  We found the entrance and I stepped into the foyer of the church.  There was a man standing there who looked quite surprised to see me (a stranger to be sure) inside of the church.  He spoke no English, and I speak no Greek, though have some limited Turkish for polite conversation.  I managed to point to my cross necklace and communicate that I follow Christ.  "Me too" he beamed, though not in my language.  We manged there in that holy place to find common ground as the music played in the background.  He invited me in, but our bus was departing, and I would feel lost in an orthodox Greek service I think.  I thanked him but declined.  I wanted to hug this brother, but instead shook his hand and blessed him.  Maybe he blessed me too... I don't know, but I do know that for certain two complete strangers felt the love of Christ between us for one short moment on a Sunday morning in Turkey.

We boarded the bus and headed back to Istanbul.  This time I was wide awake and gazed at the countryside flying past.  I manged to snap a quick picture of a group of men gathered in the shade, sipping their tea in the back yard of a farm house.

We boarded the second ferry after a quick port side cappuccino.  This time it was broad daylight and the sea was absolutely breathtaking.  Once off the ferry, we began the long trip home.  Just a few minutes into the ride... our host announced it was karaoke time.  What?  Sure enough a screen dropped down and the cd's made their round for us to make our choices.  Now.... I have not sung karaoke in a very long time, and most of the songs on the cd's were unfamiliar to me, but I was repeatedly prompted to pick a song, so I picked the only one I recognized... Genie In A Bottle.  All I had in my head was the refrain...but let me tell you... when the dj announces to the entire bus that Connie Kimble picked this song... then those words not only are sung by a multitude of people, but the words are up on the screen as well....   Let me just say it may take me awhile to repair my sullied reputation.  At any rate... I will say I have never had so much fun on a bus singing and laughing and... by the way drinking good red wine.  (well maybe there was that trip in high school... but that doesn't count).  Has anyone every heard of a Karaoke bus before?

 



This is our DJ, as you can see, the screen is ready to play a new song.  



We stopped numerous times on our way home for breaks and snacks etc., but I have to tell you about the Shell station with a mini "zoo".  Yes, adjacent to the pumps was a serious of wire enclosures and signs announcing the different animals.  The most interesting of which was the 2 motley camels.  Then there were also 2 ostriches, which Ibrahim informed me the Turks call "camel birds".  Not sure why.  Of course there were some geese, and ducks, and chickens, but the most curious of the exhibits, and also in some ways the most disturbing was the "Doberman" and "Rottweiler" exhibits.   I kid you not, one of each caged alongside the other zoo animals. 

We continued on for a while and the singing died out, as people were getting hungry for dinner.  We stopped at a restaurant and dined quickly, then re boarded for the final leg.  Did we sleep?  We did not!  We were informed that we would be experiencing a cultural exchange of sorts..... we would be watching that musical masterpiece.... Mama Mia!.... in Turkish.  It was a hoot, and having suffered through this film once before out of curiosity,  I can tell you it is definitely better in Turkish.

The end of the night was a flurry of rushing off the bus in Taksim to grab the first taxi back to Ortakoy.  I somehow got lost in the mayhem an ended up storming off because I felt I was being left behind.  I hate being left behind.  Susan and Eunice rescued me and I managed to be in my apartment before 10.

I didn't have a romantic interlude per se.... (several of my friends are sure I will meet someone here who will sweep me off my feet).  but I did fall in love.  I fell in love with yet another Turkish island and the lifestyle that still exists in parts of the planet that haven't been in too much of a hurry to join the madness of the world and I am enamored still of this lovely country, its people, and its culture. 

So I raise my glass of Vasilaki and say SEREFE to Turks and their vineyards, to the islands and their magic, to bus DJ's and their sense of humor, to travel hostesses and their thoughtfulness.  Blessings in your travels.








We stopped

Wine & Kareoke - Bozcaada Continued...

                                                               We returned to our "otel" http://egehotel.com/index.htm
after touring the fort.  The Ege is a lovely little place with a charming courtyard and a very nice host who made us all feel quite welcome.  We could see the sea from our window if we looked at an angle, but the lack of an immediate view didn't really matter because we were a bit drowsy and ready for a short sleep before touring the wine rooms.  We opened up the windows and slumbered for a bit.  My room mate is a dancer / art teacher who works at the same school and she too was ready for a breezy Turkish nap.

The weather here is still quite lovely and warm.  I woke about an hour later aware of voices in the courtyard.  Our group was assembling for the tour.  We had four shops to visit, though there are more on the island.  I believe these were selected by recommendation of quality.

First on the tour was the Talay Winery http://www.talay.com.tr/Talay-Eng/documents/45.html  (if I remember correctly)  Please understand we had been on an all night bus ride, two ferries, a trek through the fortress, short snooze followed by tastings at four different wine shops.  I may have gotten the order confused, though I know for certain which we visited last.  At any rate... I was impressed by this small shop's ability to pour samplings from 5 different wines to 25 people lined up at a small bar.  I was also impressed with their Cabernet / Merlot blend, and at 20 TL (roughly $11 US), I now wish I had bought a case.  We actually ended up drinking this wine in the bus on the way home while..... oh never mind.  That story will have to wait. 

The history of wine and the island of Bozcaada, also known as Tenedos, goes back many many years.  Turkish history has toyed a bit with the ability to continuously produce a quality product en masse from this local, but I hope and pray that this up and coming region will find an international market for their products, yet maintain the home grown organic attitude of the current vintners.  Do see some of these links if you are interested in the generations who have struggled to keep their craft alive and viable.  These are interesting and fascinating people.

Next we ambled down the narrow alley ways back to the main arterial to Ataol Winery.  This is the only shop where I did not purchase wine.  Though I was delighted by their cooler of whites and fresh goat cheese.

Some of us took a break at this point to jettison off for ice cream or a coffee or a pastry.  We reconvened and headed to the third shop on our list... Camlibag.  I won't list the link here, because at this point it is all in Turkish.  If any of my readers are truly interested, you probably will be able to find it for yourself, or of course you can e-mail me.  This was a charming spot as well and the pourer of our tastes remained nonplussed with questions and requests.  I liked the whites at this shop, particularly a heavy golden crisp Vasilaki.  I didn't buy a bottle though, thinking perhaps the last winery would produce a perfect white for our fall evening tour of the island.

The plan was to head back to the hotel to freshen up and then to board the bus for an island tour to watch the sunset over the Aegean after our last winery on the tour.  Upon arriving back in the main thoroughfare of town, I realized the next winery was an unknown (little did I know) and that white had been so delightful...

I headed back to Camlibag with my friend Prags who had promised to buy me a bottle of wine anyway.  He got away fairly cheap as the bottle of white came to a whopping 12 TL...(maybe $7 US) and I took it back to the "otel" to pop it in the refrigerator so we would have it for our sunset watching.

The plan was to dress for dinner, then head to the last and most well known (evidently) of wineries for a short taste and tour, then sunset, then dinner in town.  Sounded great to us!  We headed up a long dirt road to a gate that was opened just for us, then we had to back the bus out because it was the wrong entrance to the winery.  Once there... we entered the country shop which was lined with interesting artwork including two paintings of crows.  The name of the winery - Corvus.  Conversation with my fellow travelers led us to understand that the word Corvus is a name for crow, and in fact, this winery was built around a crow legend.  Delightful!  I love crows and ravens and I thought immediately of my friend Viki in Oregon who loves crows, wine, and art.  She would have been right at home in this place.  The wine was good.  Exceedingly good, but the best was yet to come. 

Our tour began with this unassuming man in shorts telling us it had been a very long day, and not necessarily a good one for him, so would we please stop plonking on the baby grand that was in the vat room and let him get on with his talk.  YES SIR.  As he spoke, his story and passion emerged... turns out he -

Mr. Reşit Soley - is an extremely famous Turkish architect who also happened to have some little side hobbies of car racing and flying his own planes.  He dumped it all to come to Bozcaada to make wine... following the muse of Corvus... he managed to create a work of nectar perfection which is now served to heads of state all over the planet.  http://www.corvus.com.tr/v2/en-US/content.asp?ctID=132  His passion was contagious and our tour lasted well past the sunset.  He obviously is full of life and loves his craft.  Oh... he is 56 years old and has a new baby at home.  Don't confuse this Corvus with the Washington State Corvus which is a different product all together.  At any rate... we were ushered back to the wine bar where we had the second round of tastings.  I bought Mr. Soley's recommendation, the Kuntra Cabernet which WILL wait for Christmas to be consumed.  

One of our Hosts - Ibrahim Turko

Sunset gone.  We are all hungry.  Dinner is served Turkish style of course on the waterfront.  We share mezes and drinks and a fantastic plate of fish that was cooked to perfection.  Dessert was broiled halva and then the musicians showed up...  These guys were in it for the money and they were loud and pesky up close so a game ensued of one table paying them to go play at the other table, and then visa versa.  They made out ok.

 These are the days my friend... we hope they never end... we'll sing and dance forever and a day....

I don't think anyone wanted the day to end... we milled about back at the inn, and some of us wandered down the streets looking for more...something.... I am not sure what.  Some of us sat back in the inn courtyard talking quietly and forestalling the inevitable sleep.  But nightlife in Bozcaada late September consists mostly of couples and families eating late meals and sharing intimate conversation.  I gave up and headed off to my room for some Turkish TV and a slumber that was fitful and filled with odd dreams.   

You would think the adventure would end there, that the next day would consist of a boring ride back home filled with sleeping adventurists who are all adventured out.  Not so.   

Journey to Bozcaada - Mama Mia!

When I moved to Turkey, I assumed that I would be drinking a lot less wine.  The expat blogs, guidebooks and other various sources repeatedly stated that Raki (aka "Lions Milk) was the national drink, that wine was prohibitively expensive and not all that good.  I found this to be moderately true, with a couple of drinkable exceptions, so when Travel Junkies - a delightful band of international personalities (more on them in a bit) put out an invitation for a weekend trip to a wine island on the Aegean sea... I was intrigued and naturally signed up immediately.

It had been a long and exhausting week at school, so when Friday rolled around, I went home to pack my bag and nap a bit before boarding a travel bus at 11:30 PM for an all night trip to the ferries that would carry us to yet another adventure.  Now one of my friends has joked that my adventures would eventually become a book, then a movie (we've already picked the actress who will play her character), but I never imagined I would be experiencing a Mama Mia kind of ride! We had Turks, Americans, Iranians, Canadians, Romanians, teachers, doctors, salesmen, caterers... and a few in between.  A fantastic mix of people that routinely join our host Ibrahim and hostess Susan on near and far flung adventures and treks to interesting (and usually beautiful) sites in the area.  I've blogged before on one such trip to Princes' Islands. 

We nodded and gazed sleepily as Istanbul eventually fell away and the bus drove past territory I had not seen before.  Buildings became less dense, albeit more western in appearance for a time.  The next I woke... we were on a country road and the lights of the city were far behind us.  We made a few bathroom breaks that reminded me of road trips made long ago with my family.  The warm night air hinting that I was not in Idaho in a late September, but in rural Turkey heading to the Aegean Sea.

Ok.... so I remember learning about Helen of Troy and the infamous tussle over her love and the "Trojan Horse" that was used to retrieve her in trickery, but here we were, nearing dawn, and a replica of both the horse and the city of Troy was just outside of our bus because the ancient site of Troy is just down the road from the first ferry boarding.  Of course, this was only a replica of the device, but I must say, at dawn after a night on a bus... it looked pretty impressive.  (Yes that is a Fiat in the background on its nose... I have no idea why!)  We ooohed and aaahed, and walked around the replica of Troy that is next to the horse, and we boarded a pre-dawn ferry... the first of two that we would take to our destination.

We ate a delightful Turkish breakfast at a roadside restaurant.  My coffee was tasty and the meal was extremely filling.  Then we headed to the last ferry that would take us to the Island of Bozcaada.  Oh this WAS rural Turkey.  Lots of agriculture, olive groves, pomegranate trees, corn, tomatoes still on the vine, cabbage, and goats.  In many ways, it seemed like the small rural area my grandparents raised my father, mother, and their siblings.  I imagine in some ways... these people are very much like my people.  I apologize for the fuzziness of the picture, but on this fairly busy road I spotted several herds of goats feasting or on the move, or clustered with their shepherd waiting to cross the road.  Many of the most interesting, jaw dropping, "Huh???" kind of moments were a bit blurry antd surreal in a way.  This is normal for the people who inhabit this place, but it is new to me.  Like walking into the pages of a National Geographic.  I am so happy to simply be still and watch.

We boarded the second ferry anticipating our arrival.  A couple of fishermen were getting ready for their day as we crossed over to the boat.  I waited until one of them put his pants on, then asked to take their picture.  They obliged.  My friend commented that he was very happy I waited until the shirtless man put his drawers on before I snapped the photo.   The sea was stunningly beautiful in color, I love the word azure... but have never seen it in a sea until now.  The water is clear and sparkles in the sun so brilliantly I feel as though I have been hypnotized.  It's probably just a lack of sleep.  We approach the small island and spot the ancient fortress easily from a distance.  This island was one of the unfortunate victims of the mandatory transfer of residents between the Greeks and Turks resulting from the Treaty of Lausanne.  This history is stunningly tragic as are most tales that result out of war.  I highly recommend Birds Without Wings if you want to know more.  Be prepared to weep for Turks and Greeks alike.

But now is NOT the time for weeping.  We are landing at Bozcaada and the wine is waiting.

But first.........  we will visit the fortress.  Our wise guides have reasoned that we may wish to tour this impressive citadel prior to imbibing in the island's grape as there are some steep stairs and some dizzying heights and it may be best to navigate it with our faculties unimpaired.  

It cost 5 TL to enter this site.  The history of this place goes back to a time when tales of gods and their offspring were elaborately related with intrigue and trickery and destruction.  This island is rumored to have once been home to the son of Poseidon himself.  Ibrahim reads the sad tale of woe to us before we begin our free reign, self guided tour of the place.  There are no guards.  No gates. No alarms.  No signs warning of danger.  Just a people trusting in a mediocum of common sense.  I find it incredibly refreshing. This is a truly ancient place and it has the feel of deep history.

 

Our host explains the sad and tragic tale of Poseidon's son.

I stumble by accident into a dark doorway, and enter a stunning room!  I am taken aback by the antiquities which have been excavated and put on display.  Again... no guard to ensure the safety of these treasures.... only trust that mankind will do the right thing and leave the room as it was found.  I later learned that these urns may have been burial pots dating back to a time before the advent of Christ.  The history of both the island and the fortress is quite complicated and twisted.  The fortress itself was razed and rebuilt around 1455.  It still stands, fairly unperturbed by the onslaught of time.

I find lots of little nooks and darkened rooms and can easily imagine lovers stealing a touch, a kiss, a caress while daily life goes on about the fortress.  The walls echo with stories.

  

      There is a cemetery in the center of the fortress
      and we find tombstones of
      Christian and Muslim side by side.

We leave the fortress and head to our inn to rest and freshen up for an afternoon of wine tasting and winery tours.  My thoughts are swimming with what I've just traveled through ...this is real.   I have touched things I'd only ever read about in history books, and I have felt the echos of love and life in the walls of an ancient structure that has stood the test of time.... and it's only noon.

Next....... The stories of the wineries ......  or riches to Rags.

                                                                        

                                                                                                                      

Black Sea - I Love Thee

The weather in Istanbul has been a bit unpredictable lately, as weather is, everywhere this time of autumnal shift in the northern hemisphere.  Last week saw a bit of rain and chill.  I wondered if it would stay.  Talked with a friend about weekend plans... and decided that sun would lead us to the Black Sea, and rain would take us to Dolmabahce Palace. 

I love sleeping in on Saturdays.  I always have.  I think Saturday is my favorite day of the week.  Friday is over, and Monday is still a day away.  Saturday is just for doing whatever comes to mind.  It doesn't have to busy and I can take as long as I want to leave the house. 

I had just gotten up and made my coffee when I got a call...."What are we doing?"  I hadn't yet been outside, but I could see sunshine on the buildings.... The sea it would be.  It took a while to depart.  I sipped coffee, ate my toast, read my devotionals, checked Facebook.  Lazy daze. 

                                            This beast greeted us upon leaving the apartments.

I think the cat had the same idea... take your time, enjoy the sun, and don't move through the day too quickly
We sauntered slowly down the hill, stopping to add credit to our bus passes and to pick up a little eggplant meze from the neighborhood deli.  We dodged traffic poorly, but managed to stay alive and hopped on a bus heading to Sariyer for a transfer to the Black Sea.  The bus was not too crowded and we were able to sit watching the crowds fall away.  The little coastal areas surprised me as we made our way up the Bosphorous.  Another friend had given us instructions as to how to get to the beach.  We needed to hop off in Sariyer and transfer to a dolmus.  For me that word has always been associated with the little finger appetizers I am so fond of... grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb.  Well, in the transportation world, there is a similarity,  in that the meaning of the word does indeed come from the root meaning "stuffed".  And we were.  A dolmus is a short bus or a large taxi depending on where you are.  We found one quickly, mainly because there was a funny man standing on the street calling out to all of us... something incomprehensible to me, but clearly he meant... CHEAP RIDE ON A SHORT BUS GET ON NOW FOR BLACK SEA.

We did and we were indeed stuffed.  I wish I could tilt this picture just so you could see my vantage point  In actuality, perhaps the perspective is perfect.  This was before several others joined us.  The ride careens around corners, up hills, through narrow passageways at breakneck speed.  Who needs amusement parks?  I stood the entire time because I wanted to see the passing scenery... What magnificent country.  Shrubs and low cedar filled the hills.  At one point there were two cows munching happily on a hillside.  All along the ride, people got on, and people got off, handing their lira up to the driver via passing the coins through the crowd.

I've lived near enough beach towns to know when we had reached our destination.  Seaside is the same almost everywhere.  We got off our dolmus and suddenly were taken aback by the magnificent colors of the sea stretching out before us.  A clear demarcation, (natural) between deep waters and the shallower but dangerous water near the shore was nevertheless, stunning in color.  I have been told that almost in a day, the sea does indeed change to a blackish color.  For now, this day between summer and fall... the water remained azure and inviting.








  I hadn't eaten since breakfast and had agreed to buy lunch.  We headed toward the water hoping for a restaurant that overlooked the sea.  We made a choice, (though later on wished we had kept going as there was a closer spot).  The staff were very happy to have us.  Summer was departing quickly and I suspect income is difficult to come by in this small resort town in the off months.  Our waiter, whom I think was perhaps also the owner, insisted I come inside to see the fresh fish laid out for display.  He kept saying over and over in English.... "Fish very good!".  We made our choices, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch of bread, meze, salad, sea bass, shrimp casserole and a crisp bottle of not so bad white while overlooking the Black Sea.  I feel so unbelievably grateful and sometimes.... often.... have to remember this is not  a dream.  I am here.  These experiences are part of my life. 

As I said, our waiter was very attentive.  There was a woman lurking about throughout our dining experience.  I suspect she was his wife, as she once gave me the evil eye, and had some words with him.  Really, I had no intention of running off with him.

 Ali, our waiter who allowed me to take a photo of him.  Perhaps this was why his wife was upset?



After lunch, we took a walk down to the quay to watch the men cleaning and storing their fishing nets.  I didn't manage to get the shot I wanted of them... but you can see that fishing is an industry in this small village, and that they manage to stay quite busy.  I love the Turkish flag flying over them as they go about their work.

 You can see the demarcation of water color in this photo.  There is evidently an extremely dangerous undertow at this beach and people are cautioned not to venture out too far.  In spite of this knowledge, there are numerous cabanas and entertainment areas all along the beachfront.  I imagine it is quite crowded during the hot days of summer when people can flock to cooler spots.  I found a bottle of perfume on the beach with two small barnacles still attached.  I thought it was a good statement about the temporary nature of "things" and "stuff".  I also was wooed by a horseman who desperately wanted me to pay for a short ride on his horse.  I declined but snapped his photo.  Isabel, my granddaughter would have LOVED the beautiful horse blanket he had under the saddle.  We watched a group of women jumping joyously in the surf, and I picked up shells while my friend snapped a picture of me to prove I walked the shores of this sea.

The day was shifting.  I needed some tea after the split of wine, and in spite of my words about stuff and things... I was on the hunt for a particular pair of shoes.  We had spotted a few shoe stores back in Sariyrer, and if we were going to make it home before dark, it was time to leave the seashore. 

It's very late (or early depending on your perspective) as I write this entry.  Tomorrow is Sunday and I will tell about the trip back to Ortakoy.  What a lovely and grand day.


 May all of your weekends be as glorious.

Friendly Times

I have made a lot of new friends here.  I've been thinking about the word "friend" lately.  There are some implied connotations that come with that designation.  Of course there are different depths of friendship.  For most of us, I would assume we have 1 - 3 people with whom we are particularly close.  These are our intimate friends.  The ones with whom we are absolutely safe.  We can share deeply with these people, and know they will never betray our trust.  These are the one's you can call at 2 AM in a crisis, and they will listen to your needs.   I have a couple of these, one of whom is my sister, (see pic), another also my sister, but by virtue of years and experience and tears and genuine understanding of one another.  My soul sister, Kim.  The others should know who they are.   Nothing will ever change with these friends.  Distance cannot alter our love and camaraderie, nor can circumstances.  These women would do anything for me.  I would hope they know the same is true of me. 

Which one is the assistant principal?

I was wondering if I would find new friends here.  If I would be lonely.  If I would find love.  If I would fit in.  Some of these wonderings have been answered.  I have made new friends here.  Some of them quite surprising to me.  People I would have never sought out or known had it not been for my move to Istanbul.  People whose paths simply would NOT have crossed mine had I not stepped out on this road.

I won't tell you these people's background stories.  That is not my place to share.  Suffice it to say... anyone who would trek from their home country to work in Istanbul must have some common personality traits, including, (of course) a sense of adventure.  Some of these people work at the school, like the
deputy principal of our high school.

The teachers here are interesting and intelligent people.  We are all here for our own reasons.  But we also share the common circumstance of being away from our families and our familiar lands.  That in and of itself makes for the kind of glue that binds people together in our shared recognition that we need human contact beyond the day to day interactions at work.  So we find ways to recreate together.  To explore the new place we live in.  To socialize and to eat and drink together.  I was missing this in Idaho.  I had 2 lovely friends with whom I would go out once or perhaps twice a month with.  Both were married, and both had other things going on in their lives.  Our social interactions were meaningful, but certainly not plentiful.  I also had a friend who was my spiritual mirror and my accountability partner.  I could always call her in any circumstance, but she too was married with kids and very busy with her own life.  I loved her dearly, but she was not in a position to take off on day to day adventures with me. 

Here in Istanbul, there is ALWAYS something to do with others.  Word goes out and there you are... venturing with friends to a palace, museum, beach, bar, or hamam.  A what?   A hamam, the traditional Turkish bath house where you can be scrubbed clean of the dirt of the day and the street. http://www.cagalogluhamami.com.tr/

 There is nothing like stripping to your best birthday suit and being pummeled, loofahed, scrubbed, soaped, rinsed, kneaded, oiled, rolled, and rinsed again in a large bathhouse full of others just like yourself.  Something about the intimacy of this ritual creates a bond with both your masseuse and the friend you happen to go with, in this instance... Susan the librarian, who led me to this place that I have now visited before I die.  I will return.

After this refreshing and relaxing experience, we jump on a tram PACKED with people of all shapes, colors, sizes, and odors.  Just when it seemed no more could possibly fit on... we stopped again and another mass of bodies pushed and shoved their way into the car.  Well, I had already been in my altogether in a room full of complete strangers, so this didn't seem too bad.  At least we all had our clothes on and we were standing up.

We met up with some other friends at a place called "My House" in Taksim, party central for all of Istanbul.  This restaurant had an open air rooftop and non-Turkish food on the menu.  It also featured a fantastic view of the city and the Bosphorous.... so we dined and drank and listened to wonderful stories about lecherous inn operators and secret Moroccan restaurants.  I asked these friends permission to post their pictures.  Oddly enough, one of them was born 45 miles north of my home town.   Later this group moved on to a nargile bar where you can select your music from you tube and play whatever your heart desires while smoking a hookah pipe in whatever flavor your taste buds desire.  ( I did not indulge mom... honest.)

I really would like to post pictures of other friends here.   I could name them one by one... but I did not ask their permission to write about them, so I will refrain for now.  One of my best chums here... is Prags.  A more unlikely friend for me is not to be found I think anywhere in the world, however... we have become fast friends.  I think GOD put him into my life for a variety of reasons.  He is a very patient and funny man.  We differ in many ways, but also we have some things in common.  He makes me go on long walks when I don't feel like walking.  He challenges me to think about things in new ways.  He goes with me to the dreaded bank, (though he does always go first in front of me, and takes up most of our limited time there).  The people in the neighborhood always stare at us when we go for walks... We work together at the school and he is "damn good" at his job of supporting struggling students.  I like him a lot.

I am learning many things in this place so far away from home.  I am challenged almost daily to closely examine my life and my beliefs.  I will always cling dearly to my faith.  Even in a time when the world believes that religion and love of GOD are the same thing, and that one of these is very bad, I will stand faithful to Jesus Christ.  He is and always has been, my dearest and closest friend.  I will however also stand in solidarity with my friends of other beliefs and support their right to live out their lives in freedom from extremes and from dictation.  I don't have all the answers.  I just have more questions.  I think that's ok.  Some things I don't question, because I have tested them over time and find them to be reliable and true.  But that is my walk.  The world is imperfect and so am I.  I yearn for that time when we are all free and loved and full.  I desire to be part of the building of this thing, but I cannot force holiness, and I cannot control many things about this life.  I can choose to be at peace and to love others better.  I will do this with the help of my friends and my GOD.  I am at peace with my life.